


tune as old as song

by sanzuh



Series: tale as old as time [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bathtubs, F/M, Jon is completely mesmerized when he sees the wolf bits for the first time, R Plus L Equals J, but they don't know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Her slick hands on his dry shoulder, her side brushing wetly against his chest, his arm around her bare waist, the backs of her sensitive thighs on his hairy ones under the surface of the warm water... None of it feels bad or wrong, but she knows it should, even if Jon doesn't.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: tale as old as time [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968514
Comments: 46
Kudos: 187





	tune as old as song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> Thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos and comments and has liked, replied and reblogged over on Tumblr ❤❤❤
> 
> This one's for Amy 💕
> 
> I feel like we've arrived at a point where I have to specify that though this fic is mostly based on book canon, I've actually been imagining them as about 4 years older than they are at the end of _feast/dance_. While this is self-evident for me while I'm writing them, I can imagine it's not for some of you readers, so I thought I'd better be clear about that.

Sansa desperately needs a bath, but for now, she can't let Jon out of the room and out of her sight, and she doesn't wish to leave him alone there for too long either. She's truly starting to worry about him. She's deeply moved by his fierce protectiveness and tender devotion, almost unable to remember when someone had last loved her like that, but she does wonder if he's ever going to recover from what happened to him.

Jon is sweet, and life seems incredibly simple to him, so perhaps his existence as a wolf-man is more of a blessing to him than a curse, but he deserves to be whole again, to be a complete person again. She wants to help him, but she's not sure how she is supposed to do that.

She decides to have her bath in Jon's room behind the armoury. She holds his hand, sitting on the bed with him as several stewards bring buckets of hot water into the room, caressing his hair when he gets anxious, or humming a song under her breath. He growls at Satin when he brings her a piece of soap and some rose oil to add to the hot water, but when they're alone again, he obeys when she tells him to turn around so she can undress.

Sansa shudders as she sinks into the water, releasing a deep sigh and closing her eyes. When she opens them again, Jon is on his knees next to the tub, studying her hair where she's pinned it in a pile on top of her head.

"What is it?"

He makes a face, still staring at her hair.

"You don't like it?" she asks him.

He shakes his head and glares down at the water, carefully sniffing it. His face twists into an expression of disgust. 

"You don't like the scent?" she guesses.

"I like Sansa scent."

"Well, I didn't," she laughs. "I don't like smelling of old sweat and dirt."

His face grows sullen and he inclines his head to sniff at his tunic. Suddenly, he rises to his feet and starts pulling his clothes off.

"Jon, what are you doing?" she exclaims, looking away as he shoves his breeches down. Then he's bracing his hands on the edge of the tub to swing a leg over it and get into the water with her. He scrunches up his nose at the scent of soap and rose oil wafting off the water's surface, but then he closes his eyes and leans back, his arms stretched out over the edge of the tub.

"Nice," he mutters.

It _was_ nice, until he stepped into the tub, now it's... Sansa isn't sure how she feels about this situation. She's never been completely naked with a man this close to her, not even with Harry on their wedding night, and she finds that the fact that Jon is her half-brother doesn't make much of a difference. _This is entirely improper_ , she thinks as she glances down to make sure that the water is high and murky enough to conceal her.

When she looks at him, she can see the dark scar just above his right collarbone, and the longer, crescent-shaped one over his heart. Just the sight of those marks, signs of what they've done to him, is bringing tears to her eyes. She blinks them away before he can see them. 

The tub is too small to hold two people, but Jon doesn't seem to realize that as he spreads and stretches his legs, forcing her to pull her own knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. When her toe brushes his calf, it prompts him to open his eyes and look at her. He cocks his head as he takes in her uncomfortable position.

"Come," he says, taking her arm to tug her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into his lap. 

"Jon!" she exclaims, looping her arms around his neck to steady herself. 

The confusion on his face is wide-eyed and innocent. "Pack," he reminds her. "We share."

Her slick hands on his dry shoulder, her side brushing wetly against his chest, his arm around her bare waist, the backs of her sensitive thighs on his hairy ones under the surface of the warm water... None of it feels bad or wrong, but she knows it should, even if Jon doesn't.

He strokes a hot, flushed cheekbone with his knuckles. "So pretty," he mutters. 

"This isn't proper, Jon!" she tells him.

His frown deepens, but then his eyes drop, growing wide, and she realizes that her higher perch in his lap means her breasts are no longer hidden by the cloudy water.

"Oh," he says, licking his lips. "Oh."

Her face, already flushed by the bath water's steam, is burning now. Her entire body feels hot and tingly under his gaze. She should tell him to stop, but she doesn't. His hand is inches from her chest, his fingers slightly bent, and he glances up to meet her eyes. 

"Please?" he breathes.

It should be easy to refuse him, to open her mouth and give him a simple "no," but she doesn't. She only holds his gaze, and watches his eyes grow darker as they stare back into hers. He must see a different answer in them than the one she knows she should give him. His hand cups one breast, feeling the weight of it, and something stirs against her left thigh.

He kneads her breast gently, rolling it in his calloused palm, the rough skin making her shiver and brushing deliciously over her hardening nipple. Heat pools low in her belly and the tautness in her bones feels like a promise. She never felt like this when Harry touched her there. _This isn't right,_ she tries to tell herself. _He's your brother._ Shame makes her stomach flip, but she's distracted by the sound of Jon's deep inhaling. 

He is sniffing at the air, before burying his face in her neck to breathe her in and they shudder as one. He was able to smell her fear before, does that mean he can also smell her arousal?

"Sansa," he growls softly, but it's different from all of his previous growls, his voice dissolves into a whine on the second syllable of her name, and she grows weak at the sound. She lifts her heavy eyelids to find that his eyes have turned to deep black pools. There's something almost frightening about them, but exciting at the same time, and her earlier shame is but a distant memory now. When his hard manhood pokes her thigh, it's the mewl that escapes from her own throat that breaks the spell. 

It's not just that he's her half-brother, it's also that she's not quite sure he's completely aware of what he's doing. Just like a wolf, he's following his body's instincts, but he wouldn't be doing that if he was whole again.

"Jon?" she tries to say, but her voice is still barely more than a whimper. His hand stills, but he doesn't pull it away, and the arm around her waist tightens.

"Jon, please let me go."

His hands are gone, and she almost tells him that it was a mistake to make him stop, almost begs him to continue.

"Sansa?" he rasps. She can't look at his face, but the tone of his voice tells her she'd find that same confusion from earlier in his features.

She rises from his lap, bracing a hand on the edge of the tub, and he's right behind her to help her out of it. She lets him assist her, but she quickly wraps a towel around herself and moves as far away from the tub as possible, even as the biting chill in the room makes her shiver and her teeth start to chatter. She can feel his eyes on her, and then he is right behind her.

"Cold," he whispers as he wraps his strong arms around her. He's dripping wet and still naked, but so delightfully warm she can't resist leaning into that warmth, relaxing against the reassuring expanse of his solid chest against her back. 

He tugs the pins from her hair and buries his face in the mass of tresses that tumble down her face and shoulders. He presses his lips to her temple. "Safe," he murmurs into her skin. He kisses her cheekbone, her ear, her jaw, whispering, "safe," again and again.

"Yes, safe," she answers when she finally realizes why he keeps repeating the word. "I'm not afraid of you, Jon."

"Sansa," he croons with his lips on her neck. "My pretty Sansa."

"Jon, no," she tells him. "We can't."

He pulls away and turns her around in his arms to search her eyes, confusion written all over his face.

"It's wrong," she insists.

"Why?" he asks, taking her hand and placing it over the scar left by the wound that killed him, over his heart. "Sansa," he says softly, squeezing her fingers. 

She shakes her head, unable to find the right words to explain it to him. "I'm sorry, Jon," she whispers roughly through the lump in her throat and the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. "Please, leave me alone."


End file.
